


Anywhere but Here

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is standing on the other side, the pouring rain running down his face in rivets. The upturned collar of his parka has done nothing to keep him dry and so the coat is clinging to his chest. In his arms, instead of a stack of wood, rest two cases. A story in two parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I've been promising an M-rated piece in the same style as 'My Own Prison' and I'd hate to disappoint.

 

You're not sure what it was that possessed you to agree to this. Perhaps it was the thrill of finally venturing into the field. Or the need to show your colleagues that you, in fact, were not completely incapable. But it's the little voice in your mind that's winning out, saying it's a chance to show Harry what you're capable of.

After the disaster that your first; and only; foray into fieldwork produced, you're keen on portraying a stronger image. To him. And yes, to the rest of the world. But mainly him.

So far, it's not going that way.

* * *

It all started towards the beginning of the week.

Intelligence had come through of a potential domestic threat originating in the northwestern woods of England. Not your typical place to find people plotting the downfall of a nation, but then, terrorists were getting smarter.

The morning briefing had done nothing more than set out potential research avenues. Ones that you had spent the next three days digging through databases, seeking information through channels not fully legit but not illegal either.

And then it happened.

You found the bit that made the case that a full investigation was needed. To figure some way of infiltrating the groups camp.

The only hitch was finding an active field agent to not raise suspicions.

And where did one find a 50-something English male?

Oh.

Right.

* * *

Which is how you've found yourself huddled in your down jacket; icey rain beating upon your head; in the middle of nowhere. Night isn't too far off and any chances of the cavalry riding in to save the two of you is slim to none.

The welcoming party the two of you met upon arriving had seen to that.

Four flat tyres and cut battery cables coupled with the crushing of your mobiles ensured they wouldn't be finding you any time soon.

Add in the fact that you're not to check in until Sunday night after tea and it's going to be a long two days.

In the rain.

Alone with Harry.

* * *

The inside of the woodman's cottage is doing little to keep the winter winds out but at least its dry. Mostly. Harry has left you alone to try and find anything to make the night more comfortable while he tries to gather enough dry wood to get you through the night.

He hadn't held out much hope.

You've had little more luck inside, only finding an old, thick sleeping bag to pad the floor and some moth-eaten blankets. As well as two camp pillows.

A few tins of beans, a sleeve of water biscuits, and a sealed water jug were the only salvageable food in the cabinets.

Leaning over the empty fireplace, you gather the last of the dead leaves and twigs that have gathered there over the years; carrying them to the pile you've made in the corner.

All three feet away.

Brushing your hands together, you try and clear the dirt from them. There's no running water in the cottage and you're loath to open the only source of seemingly fresh water for something as trivial as dirty hands. No, a little dirt never hurt anyone.

You look around, taking in the small space you'll likely inhabit for the next few days at least. It's really only a small room, maybe 10 foot x 10 foot, with a small water closet to the right of the fireplace and a locked door to the left. You'd tried finding a key to open the door but nothing worked.

To the east and to the west, there's an old window, the wind seeping through framing where it had sagged with age.

You pull your wet coat tighter and continue your search with a sigh, hoping that the book shelves and chest by the east window hold something promising. You're just stretching to a box on the top shelf when you hear a thud against the door. Jumping, you turn to look at it a moment before glancing around for a weapon. Just as your gaze settles on a heavy book, you hear Harry's voice. Quickly, you hurry to the door and yank it open.

Harry is standing on the other side, the pouring rain running down his face in rivets. The upturned collar of his parka has done nothing to keep him dry and so the coat is clinging to his chest. In his arms, instead of a stack of wood, rest two cases.

Your travel cases to be exact.

You let out a squeal of delight at the sight of your beloved case. Hands reaching out, you grab it from his grasp, pulling it into the room with you. As you step back to allow him in, you catch a glimpse of his raised eyebrow, and your cheeks blush.

"Would you like to be alone?" His voice holds a trace of humour as he closes the door and turns to you.

"It's just..." you pause, unsure how to explain the significance of what's in your case.

Instead you carry it to the rinky wooden table you've drug closer to the empty fireplace and set it on it. Eyes focused on it, you unzip it, careful to avoid watching as Harry peels off the nylon parka that's done nothing to protect him from the elements. As you raise the lid, your eyes lift briefly to see what was once a crisp white shirt clinging to his torso, highlighting the muscle definition underneath.

Heat filling your cheeks, you focus once more on your case, hastily pushing aside your unmentionables as you dig to the bottom. Your fingers brush the foil-wrapped snacks you had packed the night before, and you wrap your hands around them, pulling them out. Holding them to him, you shyly show him the package of Chocolate Chip and Hazelnut Maryland Cookies as well as the bag of Frazzles, your voice soft as you speak.

"All I could find to eat were two cans of beans and a pack of water biscuits."

You're expecting him to laugh, perhaps come out with an Adam-like comment at your enthusiasm of having your biscuits and Frazzles but instead, he just smiles at you and moves to place his case next to yours. He quickly pulls back the zip, digging into the bag to pull two things free, and you find yourself staring at a large bag of salt & vinegar crisps and a large package of fig rolls.

Suddenly you can't keep from grinning as you realize you were both thinking the same thing.

* * *

Harry's crouched in front of the fireplace, his loose flannel sleep pants pulled taut against cheeks, as he arranges the wood and dry leaves you had cleared free earlier. You're sitting on top of the opened sleeping bag, your knees pulled to your chest as you watch him carefully build a fire.

He'd been reluctant to build the fire before night had fallen, unsure whether those who had left you to survive in the woods were truly gone or just biding their time. Instead, after leaving the cases to dry in the cottage, you'd gone with him to bring in the piles of logs he had found under an old tarp behind the building, setting them along the one wall.

Before you can get further in your thoughts, you hear his exclamation followed by the crackle of wood catching fire. Shifting your attention back to the man in front of you, you watch as he fans the flames, the kindling catching as the fire builds.

"There!" He says, hands fanning out to the warmth of the fire.

You smile as he turns to look at you, your breath catching at the grin he gives you. And in that moment, you can almost believe that you're not you and he's not Harry and this situation is nothing more than the two of you enjoying a rustic, romantic weekend.

But you are you and Harry is Harry.

And this is a mission gone wrong. As Harry settles on the bag next to you, your gaze settles on the orange glow filling the room and not the man next to you.

* * *

"As You Like It" Biscuit in your hand, you take a bite, watching as he reaches out for a crisp and pops it in his mouth.

"A Midsummer's Night's Dream" he says back, stretching out on his side. "Favourite Shakespeare tragedy?"

"Julius Caesar of course."

He shakes his head at you before answering. "Romeo and Juliet."

"I should have known." you say, smile lighting your face as you watch him. "Favorite Composer?"

He doesn't answer, instead trying to figure out what you mean with your remark on his favourite tragic Shakespearean play.

"Harry?" you prod, waiting for his answer.

"What did you mean?" he asks instead, eyebrows twisted in confusion.

"About what?"

"Why did you know I was going to say Romeo and Juliet?"

"I just did." you say, not wanting to venture into the realm of knowing about his past forbidden affairs.

But he won't let it go.

* * *

You're unsure how the seemingly innocent conversations about your favourite things has found you on your back, the hefty weight of Harry Pearce pressing into you as his mouth slowly caresses yours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I apologize for the delay in getting this up, it took longer than I thought to switch from third person to second person. Hopefully you enjoy.
> 
> And Rosetintedblindspot - this is for you again. Thank you for encouraging me to finish this.

 

You're unsure how the seemingly innocent conversations about your favourite things has found you on your back, the hefty weight of Harry Pearce pressing into you as his mouth slowly caresses yours.

It had started with a slip of tongue, a comment about his past relationships, that had led to the discussion.

* * *

"You think I've had doomed loves?" He asks, starring at you.

"No, not at all." you rush out, wanting to smooth over any distance you might have created. "It's just...you know, you've had...many relationships that...that... _thing_."

You're unsure how to voice the thoughts in your head and cursing them as if inanimate objects does little to alleviate your confusion. Looking down, you twist your fingers together, wishing you'd kept your mouth shut.

"That have what, Ruth?"

His voice is soft as he says your name and you lift your gaze to meet his, unsure what it is that flashes through his eyes.

"I don't know, I just...don't know."

His hand reaches out to settle on yours causing your gaze to drop, coming to rest where his skin is meeting yours.

"You  _do_  know. Tell me. I won't be angry."

Without thought, you stop twisting your fingers together and slowly move a hand out from under his, letting the warmth of his fingers and palm drop to the lone hand now resting in your lap. With your free hand, you slowly brush the tip of your finger along an unnoticed scar spanning the top of his hand; from knuckle to wrist; that's grown faint with age.

You hear his breath catch at the unexpected touch, giving you confidence to continue touching his warm skin and to voice the thoughts buried deep within your mind.

"It's just you've had so many women, many of them forbidden, that I've found myself wondering if it's the forbiddances that you enjoy."

"You wonder about my past romances?" he asks, a look of understanding pulling at his eyes. "Why?"

Realizing what it is you've revealed, you pull your hand back and move, leaving his hand to fall to the sleeping back. Standing, you brush at imaginary crumbs on your sleep pants, before moving towards the door. You've nowhere to go and yet you can't stay here.

"I just...I've forgotten...in the car...I should nip out and get it." You're reaching for your coat hung from a peg as you mumble, needing to escape.

"Ruth."

You turn at the softness of his voice, gasping as you see him standing behind you. Your eyes meet his hazel ones and for a moment, you let down your walls, showing him that despite all he's done and who you both are, he means everything and more to you.

But it's only a moment that you let this show before building up your walls again. The need to escape re-surfaces and you quickly turn for your coat. As your fingers brush the damp fabric, you feel the touch of his fingers on the skin of your neck, brushing away the soft locks of hair there.

"Ruth." he breathes again, his warm breath caressing your skin as he leans down, his mouth pressing softly at the base of your skull.

Your eyes close, your head falling forward as you breathe deeply, wishing that this moment never has to end.

But it does and you feel him move, your hair falling as he steps back. As reality sets back in, you know that if  _this_  is to happen, it'll mean everything to you and nothing to him, just a way of passing the time.

Because if his history has shown you anything, it's that's this'll be nothing more than shag from boredom.

The woman inside you screams  _who cares_ ; the desire to feel Harry Pearce moving inside of you great; but the logical part of you says it matters, matters because you'll never be able to work with him again.

Not after becoming one of  _his_  women.

You shake your head, knowing you can't do this. Not now, not ever. Your hand grasps your coat, pulling it from the peg. Shakily, you move to put it on, your voice wavering as you speaks. "I just need to go to the car, I'll be back." You pause a moment as you wrap the coat around you, before you ask the question that's just popped into mind. "Which way is it? The car."

He speaks your name again, lower and closer than before, and you cast your eyes about for the shoes you'd kicked off earlier. As you spot them lying under the table, you feel the fabric of your coat moving, pulling from your body. The sleeves turn inside-out as Harry pulls it free, dropping it to the floor before turning you round.

He's before you now, standing only a hair's breadth from you, his body heat warming you. Slowly his hand raises, brushing the hair from your face resting against your cheek. You can help but lie your cheek against his palm, a sigh escaping from you as rational thought slips away.

"I love you." he whispers from nowhere, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

You smile weakly, nodding as you realize this is just part of his seduction, that they're just words, and yet, these words push away any resistance you might raise.

No longer do you want to run from it, hide from what might be. You want to know what making love; no, it can't be that; having  _sex_  with Harry Pearce is like. Lifting your head, you meet his gaze.

"I love you." he whispers again before leaning down, his lips pressing gently against yours.

You try your best to memorize everything around you; the smell of his fading cologne, the feel of his hand against your skin, the pressure of his soft lips on yours.

Without knowing it, your hands raise to his cheeks, thumbs brushing his cheek as the kiss deepens.

His hand leaves your cheek, sliding down your body to rest on your waist. You sigh, his calming presence washing over you. It's soon replaced by a moan as his hands pull you closer, pressing you against him, hands roaming lightly over you, filling you with desire.

You pull back, breath coming in gasps as you open your eyes to meet his desire filled ones. And just like that, he knows.

* * *

The two of you have moved away from the door to stand by the warmth of the fire, each of your hands caressing the other as you kiss.

Slowly, his fingers inch under the cotton shirt you wear, brushing against the soft skin of your stomach, before he grasps the hem. Stepping back, he lifts the material free, dropping it to the floor before moving his own.

You've only a moment to appreciate the view of his shirtless torso before he pulls you back into his arms. Now it's naked flesh on naked flesh; the soft mounds of your breasts pushing against the surprisingly hard muscles of his chest.

You sigh, giving him an opportunity to stroke your tongue with his, both of you lost in the feeling of the other. It's sometime later that you feel his hand leave your back, slowly tracing a path to your hip. There, he draws a circle with his finger, slowly matching his pace with that of his tongue, and before you know it, his hands are pushing down your pants and knickers, followed quickly by his.

Slowly, cautiously, he turns you to the sleeping bag and with his hands on your waist, he lowers you to the floor. As you come to rest on the worn flannel, you feel him place soft, tender kisses on your face, your collarbone, and your neck, before capturing your lips with his.

All too soon, he moves his kisses to the hollow of your neck, teeth nipping and tongue soothing the pale skin he finds there as his hand moves to your right breast, kneading against you. With hot, open mouth kisses, he moves his full attention to your left breast, tongue tracing your stiffened nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

You moan, your chest lifting to meet his keen mouth and hand, as your hands slide to his lower back. Head falling to the side, a gasp of pleasure escapes from you as his mouth changes sides and a hand slips down your stomach and between your legs.

Slowly, he teases you, fingers caressing against your wetness, his mouth continuing to nip and kiss at your breasts. You begin to plead, your fingers twisting into the short locks of hair on his neck to hold him in place as he slowly slides two fingers into your heat.

He strokes you, teasing as he builds you up only to pull back, refusing to give you the release you're looking for. He lifts his head to brush your mouth with his. You can feel yourself getting closer as his fingers stroke closer, his thumb just missing your clitoris with each stroke, the hardness of his erection pressing against your hip. Just as you're about to peak, his fingers suddenly leave you and you cry out, eyes opening at the lack of relief.

"Harry..." is all you get out before in one swift movement, he pushes into you.

You gasp, your muscles clenching around him as he stretches you, filling you completely with his hard length. He stays still, giving you time to adjust to his size. Your legs wrap around his hips and you lift your pelvis, pressing against him as you try to find the release he's been denying you.

With this, he starts moving, slowly. You moan as he starts to move faster, his hips pressing into you. With each thrust, you lift yourself, feeling yourself getting closer. He must sense this too because he moves a hand between the two of you, his thumb now brushing against your clitoris with each thrust.

Back arching, you feel your muscle tense as your climax overcomes you, white filling your eyes as you experience the most intense orgasm. It's only moments later that you feel his body tense, his lips millimeters from yours as he comes with a groan, his hot breath washing over you.

He thrusts two more times before collapsing on you, his weight pressing you into the hard floor. But you don't care as you lie there, breath panting as you try to catch it, your toes and fingers still curled into the fabric. Harry's breath is still coming in gasps, hot against your neck as he rests a moment.

It's only when he realizes he's still lying on you that he moves, his penis slipping free as he rolls to your side. Gathering you in his arms, he draws the sleeping bag around the two of you, curling you into his chest.

"Sleep." he mutters, holding you close.

* * *

The rain is still falling when you wake the next morning. Twice more over the course of the night, Harry had woken you with soft kisses and wandering hands, slowly making love to you in the glow of the firelight.

Now, you ache, your body hurting in places you had forgotten it could hurt. Stretching, you realize that your alone in the double sleeping bag. Eyes opening, you look around the room to find yourself alone and an emptiness settles in your stomach.

God, what had you been thinking, giving into the desire that you felt for your boss. Tears prick your eyes as you turn to your side and you stuff a fist in your mouth to keep from sobbing. You'd expected him to disappear, to distance himself from you, but not so soon. There's still at least thirty-six hours that you'll be stuck in this cottage together, and you wonder how you'll manage.

You're so wrapped up in your grief that you don't hear the door to the water closest opening and closing. Nor do you feel the side of the sleeping bag lift. It's only as a pair of strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you back into his warmth that you register he's still there.

He turns you so that your face is buried in his neck, his hands pressing into the small of your back as he holds you close.

"What is it love?" he mutters, his breath warm against your ear.

You can do nothing but shake your head, your salty tears running over his skin. He lets it go for now, his hands sliding up and down your back in comfort as he mutters softly to you. It's some time later, after you've stopped crying and are lying in the warmth and comfort of his embrace that he questions you again.

"What happened Ruth?" he asks, his voice soft as he looks down at you.

"I thought you'd left." you mumble, your bloodshot eyes lifting to his. After last night, you're not afraid to speak what's on your mind. The man has seen you naked after all, spent hours kissing and caressing the body you'd been so afraid to share with anyone.

He holds you close for a moment, before he pulls you up. You're face to face, his eyes burring into yours as he speaks. "I meant what I said last night, I love you."

And suddenly you realize, this wasn't just some shag of boredom.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Yes, I did just leave it there. =-}~ Reviews will get you the M-rated bits.


End file.
